


Two Burdens

by ax100



Series: The Song of Kings [1]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work
Genre: Gen, I stand corrected, There are in fact TWO F bombs, and another in Faroese, rated T for one (1) F bomb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-20 18:14:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18530461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ax100/pseuds/ax100
Summary: Aodh carries with him two burdens, Tarben realizes one night, when the air is still, the prelude to a storm.





	Two Burdens

**Author's Note:**

> Hey hi hello! Ax here. I've decided to start posting my original works on AO3 as well, to bump up my word count here. 
> 
> This is from a novel/homebrew D&D campaign setting I have in the works, where the gods fought a war against an evil entity with the help of a brave band of humans. When all was said and done and the dust had finally settled, the gods gifted these humans with Crowns, powerful artifacts that gave them the divine right to rule over their fellowmen and keep the world in check. They also blessed these humans and their bloodlines, to forever be the rightful heirs and bearers of the Crowns. Centuries later, the world has fallen into chaos; the evil entity has been reborn, and the gods are nowhere to be found. It is up to the monarchs to take up the mantle once again and defend their lands and their people from the destruction that threatens their very existence.
> 
> This story takes place sometime before the climax and end of the main story timeline, a few weeks after Prince Aodh has passed the Coronation Trials to unlock the powers of his Crown.
> 
>  **Some things to know:**  
>  \- Aodh ran away from home and Tarben is the bounty hunter who found him  
> \- They are in the westernmost part of Auriya, right before hitting the ports  
> \- Aodh is like 20/21, Tarben is around 40, give or take a few years  
> \- Aodh is the younger of two brothers. His brother, Crown Prince Aedelric is 25/26  
> \- [this is a torc](https://i.ebayimg.com/images/g/bxsAAOSwmrlUzfE6/s-l300.jpg). In this setting, it is used as jewelry to denote the nobility of Freimhe, Aodh's homeland. For members of the royal family, it is gold. The one Aodh wears is thick, made with golden cords braided together into a rope, with plain donut-shaped terminals.  
> \- During their travels, Tarben has said this to Aodh:
>
>>   
>  _"You lack determination. You are indecisive and are afraid of getting hurt. Perhaps those are good traits if you were a merchant--not even, in fact: they are among the most stubborn of people, which you are not, as your will bends like a reed in a gentle breeze. In any case, no matter what those traits would be good for, if anything, I know one thing: you are no king."_   
> 
> 
>   
> You'll see why that's important later.
> 
> This story is unedited, written over two sittings purely for fun. Proceed with caution.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Aodh carries with him two burdens.

The realization comes to Tarben on a quiet evening, when the cool wind from the Golden Desert carries into the monarch’s bedchamber, rustling the sheer cloth draped across the window.

It is the evening before they board the boat to Freimhe. In a few days, Aodh will have to fight to take back his land. Tarben has at least known him long enough to know that that is why the prince cannot sleep, why he is standing by his window, looking up at the moon with his cloak draped over his shoulders.

“Do they not get heavy?” Tarben asks from his position, seated cross-legged on the tiger skin rug on the floor.

Aodh looks back at him. His eyes are so different from the way they were when they first met, it still surprises Tarben every time they turn to him. The rectangular pupils might never be something he gets used to, he thinks.

“What?” Aodh asks.

“The horns,” Tarben clarifies.

“Ah.” Almost by instinct, Aodh touches a hand to one of them. His lips twitch up into a slight smile. “They’re _antlers,_ Tarben. You should know that,” he teases.

Tarben shrugs, and the smile flickers away for a second before returning, though a bit sad this time, a bit wistful.

“They do get heavy, yes. It’s hard on the neck and back at times. I still have yet to get used to them. Though it’s been a few weeks now,” Aodh explains, his gaze fixed on a spot somewhere beyond his head. “I’ll get used to it.”

“Don’t avoid the question, _mogghøvd._ ” That’s enough to get Aodh to look at him directly again. The word should be familiar, what with all the times Tarben has used it on him. Well, if the little prince could stop being so fucking high maintenance, then Tarben could stop using it on him. “You know what I mean,” he says, looking at him expectantly.

Under his gaze, Aodh falters. Still looking at Tarben, his jaw clenches shut and only slightly wobbles before he closes his eyes and takes a deep inhale. He slowly lets it out, as his tensed shoulders fall in tandem.

Tarben watches him.

Aodh opens his eyes again, meets his gaze directly this time. There is pain there, plain for the viewing.

“They’re heavy,” Aodh confirms, and the weight behind the words is enough to tell him that he is indeed talking about much more than the physical burden of the antlers sprouting from his head. “They’re so goddamn heavy, Tarben. You wouldn’t even believe.” He touches them, to where they emerge from his cranium, before he takes them into his hands, gripping them tightly. And when he speaks, the words are heated, almost angry.

“Sometimes I think about shaving them off. Shaving them off, just like a tiefling would, don’t you think? They’re so fucking _heavy_ , you know? Maybe the tieflings had the right idea about that. It gets in the way of so many things, so many. When I was younger, I used to think, ‘I wouldn’t want to have something like that, it’s so inconvenient.’ And what’s more, so much potential to hurt others. They’re sharp, if you hadn’t noticed. I always have to be careful with them. One wrong move and I could blind someone passing by. Have you ever thought of that? One day, you’re minding your own business. Then the next, you’ve got these _things_ on your head and you can’t move the way you used to. It’s…” he trails off, breathing fast.

Slowly, he comes back into himself, straightening up, loosening the grip he has around the base of his antlers to let his hands fall to his sides. His eyes are downcast, looking somewhere off next to the wall behind Tarben. “It’s difficult,” he finally says.

Tarben says nothing, just stands up from where he is seated, and steadily makes his way to where the prince is standing. Aodh follows his movements with a questioning gaze, especially when Tarben stops in front of him, but makes no move to back away.

Seeing him this close, Tarben is reminded of how _young_ the prince in front of him is. No longer a boy by any means, but still in the process of discovering what it means to be a man.

When they had first met, Aodh carried with him the air of naivety that came with being brought up in the lap of luxury, in a world where he knew nothing but kindness and goodness and love. In just a few short months, he had been stripped of all that, of the long-standing innocence that blinded him to the cruelties of the world around him. Tarben could see how difficult it was for the boy to come to terms with the things he had seen, how difficult it was to accept that oftentimes, bad things happened even to those who didn’t deserve it.

To be made to be the one to right those injustices on top of all that was just a cruel fate, Tarben had always thought.

He slowly brings his hands up—the prince follows the movement, but doesn’t move away—and gently closes them around the base of the antlers. Aodh doesn’t even flinch at the contact.

“Do you want to get rid of them?” Tarben asks in a much gentler tone than he has ever been known for.

At that, the prince’s resolve slips. His expression crumbles, and he looks up at Tarben with pleading eyes. No one has asked him this question, Tarben knows, not in the weeks he has had them. Not as he bent his head to fit through doorways that used to be just right for his height but are now too low. Not as he quietly asked Queen Izar’s servants for the third time in one day to massage the knots out of his shoulders from the strain of supporting the new weight of his head. Not as he sat down with the other monarchs of the other kingdoms and empires to discuss how they were going to liberate their lands and their people. Not as they spoke of the probability of their own deaths.

“Do you want to get rid of them?” Tarben asks again, a little more insistent.

“I—“ Aodh starts, then catches himself. His face twists before he says, “No, I can’t…” He brings his hands up and closes them around Tarben’s wrists, meeting no resistance as he removes the bigger man’s grip. “I can’t.”

“I’d help you,” Tarben says, letting his hands be guided until they rest back down at his sides. That is when the prince releases them.

“I know you would,” Aodh replies. “But…” And at this, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath again. He composes himself and takes a step back. And when he opens them again, the gaze that meets Tarben’s own is resolute.

Or perhaps resigned.

In any case, it is calm and steady, and is more reminiscent of Princess Izar and her stateliness than Aodh himself up to a few weeks prior.

That gaze, it makes Tarben think, is definitely that of a King.

“It is my burden to bear,” Aodh says. “It is true that I never once thought that the responsibility would fall on my shoulders, with my father as king and my brother as his heir. But that was foolish to think…” he trails off, and his hand trails up to the golden torc sitting around his neck. “I bore this weight long before the Crown became mine.”

His first burden. The one he was born with.

His bloodline.

“I still don’t know whether to consider you cursed or blessed,” Tarben admits, moving towards the window. The town below was sleeping quietly. Soft yellow light occasionally flickered through the windows of the low houses. “I can’t imagine what it’s like, to have your future laid out for you like that. Your destiny. The gods have asked of you, and your ancestors, and your descendants, something outrageous.”

“Truly,” Aodh agrees, sidling up next to him, looking up at the moon again. “But it is what it is, and someone has to do it.”

Tarben hums, his eyes flicking over to the prince. His eyes—strange eyes now, nothing like how they were when they first met—shine with a certain peace. Tranquil but melancholy, acceptance of his fate like a heavy stone swallowed and digested all the same.

If that’s what it takes to be a King, Tarben thinks, then Aodh need not wear the confusion of a young man on his face and carry it in his heart any longer. If that’s what it takes to be a King, then he has long since discovered what it means to be a man, and everything beyond that.

“Better you than me, at least,” is all Tarben says in response before casting his eyes back onto the town. Aodh keeps his head up, still looking at the moon.

The night passes slowly, while the cool wind from the Golden Desert blows by.

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all think it's cute but I can tell you with 100% certainty that Tarben would have snapped those antlers off like twigs if Aodh had said yes
> 
> Translation note:  
> mogghøvd - fuckhead. Tarben's mother tongue is an amalgamation of Scandinavian languages. This word in particular is a curse word in Faroese.
> 
> If you enjoyed this work, please consider leaving a comment. I'll probably post more from this setting from time to time, as well as my other original works.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
